


paradigm shift for the drift-compatible soul

by ahatfullofoctarine (orphan_account)



Series: compatibility measures [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies), Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Cameos, Drift Compatibility, Friendship, M/M, Pre-Relationship, The Drift (Pacific Rim)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-15 16:05:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16936368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ahatfullofoctarine
Summary: Shiro/Matt. Pacific Rim AU.





	paradigm shift for the drift-compatible soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BRobeast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BRobeast/gifts).



> *hops out of the abyss*
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!! :D 
> 
> I'm your Secret Santa for the [ShattSunday Holiday Exchange](https://shattsunday.tumblr.com/post/180689068260/shattsunday-holiday-exchange) hosted by [ShattSunday](https://shattsunday.tumblr.com) on tumblr :D
> 
> Your original blank slate prompt had me cycling through a random generator of AUs I wanted to explore, and I naturally landed on Drift Compatibility, from Pacific Rim. 
> 
> *HUGS*  
>    
>  ~~*crosses fingers and hopes that BRobeast watched this film*~~

Of the Shirogane twins Jiro’s always been the one with a lot more energy reserves to burn, and a lower inclination towards impulse control. It doesn't surprise Shiro when he comes across him attempting to sneak out after lights out. Jiro’s been doing that since high school. What does surprise Shiro is how quickly the shine of the Kerberos Shatterdome has worn off.  

Kerberos is the second largest in the world, and the largest in the Southern Hemisphere.  It is the fiery crucible where only the greatest, and toughest  jaegar pilots were forged. It is where Marshalls Alfor and Zarkon piloted Nemean Fury for the first time and held their ground against Yamarashi.  Its sprawling facility boasts cutting edge advancements in kaijiu and drift science alike. It stands sentinel on the southern end of Oriande Island, keeping a perpetual watch over Arus Harbour; the primary base for the PPDC, and humanity's first line of defense against The Breach. 

And Jiro had gotten bored of it on the second week.

_Unbelievable._

Shiro snags him by the collar before he clears the service exit doorway. Yanks him back into the galley.  It’s fine; Jiro’s used to it.

“Ow! What the—”

“— _hell_ , yes. My thoughts exactly!” Shiro hisses. A drift connection cuts out the need for any sort of preamble, which is convenient when one wants to skip the trial and cut straight to the execution. “If Hannibal—”

“—not Hannibal.”  Jiro snaps, extricating himself from Shiro’s grip. “And not in trouble, _relax_. Just bored.”

“Bored.” Shiro repeats tersely, silence descending and hovering between them while he forces himself past the initial frustration to understand. The Breach has been quiet and remained so for a little over three weeks now; something a typical human being of their time would be happy about.  

Jiro isn't typical. He's been champing at the bit long before they climbed into the chopper that brought them here. Shiro knows this innately and acutely as he feels the phantom of their drift connection ebbing at the corners of his mind.

“Yes _bored_ , like you.” Jiro pauses, the scowl on his face deepening. “No; _not_ like you. Bored _of_ you.”

“Well I don’t care if you’re bored. You’re going to get us kicked out if you don’t come back to bed this instant!” He tries to grab Jiro but he’s ready for Shiro this time. He dodges at the last moment, and pulls Shiro into a headlock.

“Patience yields focus,” Jiro snarls. “Well I've been _‘_ patient’ since Sydney, and Lima, _and_ Anchorage, and you know what? I'd rather get kicked out of Kerberos instead of having to see _that idiot_ you love crying so much about in my sleep!”

Shiro opens his mouth to fire off an equally hurtful and retaliatory barb when the service entrance creaks open and derails that train of thought.

Lance, who should _also_ be in bed, is poking his head into the galley.

“Dude what’s the hold up, Keith’s about to lose his shi—eeuaah! Shiro, uh how—how’s it going?” Lance clears his throat. “We’re just stepping out for a little. Won’t be long, just...fuck.”

Doctor Alverson’s head sprouts up in the empty airspace above Lance’s shoulder.

“Midnight workout!” The Doctor announces cheerfully, apparently not bothered by the fact that Jiro has Shiro in a sleeper-hold. “Care to join us?”

“ _What_?” Jiro demands.

Shiro uses the distraction to break free and stare at her. This is not _at all_ behaviour befitting of the PPDC’s lead J-Tech scientist, nor is it behaviour that should be _endorsed_ by said lead scientist.

“Doc? You’re in on it _too_?”

“’Course she’s in on it.” Lance says proudly. He glances at her, looking absolutely smitten. “The whole thing was her idea.”

“Fifty per cent of an idea,” Alverson corrects. She turns to Shiro.  “And you can call me ‘Allura’.”

“What the hell is going on?” Shiro demands.

Lance opens his mouth, possibly thinks the better of it, and closes it again. He nudges Allura.  “Um. You go.”

Allura presses her hands together and smiles at Shiro in earnest. “I can assure you that what we’re doing is perfectly safe—”

Someone knocks out Shiro with a frying pan before he hears the end of that sentence.

 

. . .

 

When Shiro comes too it’s in a cramped space in complete darkness, and everything smells like feet. The trunk of the boot he’s been stuffed into opens, and fluorescent light spills in, framing Allura's silhouette. From Shiro's angle, he’s sure they’re in an underground carpark or facility of a similar nature; vaulted concrete ceiling.

Faintly, he can cheering. _Cheering means people._ People mean _help_.

He starts squirming. Not a particularly easy task, since _some_ one—his money’s on Jiro, that traitorous piece of shit—has bound his hands and legs together rotisserie style, but he tries.

‘Where the hell are we!’ Shiro yells, but with his mouth being duct-taped, all he can manage are muffled vowel sounds.  

“Sorry.” Allura smiles sheepishly.  “It really wasn’t my idea to tie you up, but we voted, and the sedan only had seats for five including the driver, so…we put you in the boot. Now, I want to untie you, and explain to you what’s going on, but first I’ll need your word that you won’t try to scream. Deal?”

Shiro eyes her shrewdly.  Nods once, out of self-preservation, and not because he plans on actually following through with her proposal. First chance he gets, he's legging it to the nearest payphone and calling the Marshall.

“I also ask,” Allura adds wryly, “that you please refrain trying to overpower me and trying to run away. I’m stronger than I look. _A lot_ stronger. I won't break anything attempting to subdue you, but I can't guarantee it won't _hurt_. Clear?”

Shiro nods again, slower this time. He’s caught glimpses of her, going toe to toe with _Zethrid_ , the closest equivalent of a demi-goddess Shiro's seen on the sparring mat and in the weight room.

“Wonderful!”

Allura reaches down. She carefully peels the tape from his mouth, then with a utility knife Shiro swears _wasn’t_ in her hand before—begging the morbid question of _where_ she’d been concealing it, and _what else_ she has concealed—makes quick work of the cable ties. She helps him out of the trunk, and disappears to the front of the car, returning with a bottle of water while he rubs his legs and arm, trying to get the feeling back into them.

“Thanks.”

Allura beams.  “You’re welcome.”

Somehow, he has the feeling that by accepting the water he’s also accepted whatever possible consequences there are to aiding and abetting her and the others. Whatever, the trunk had been stifling and he'd rather not get upside the back of the head with another frying pan. It's a more than adequate trade off.

“C'mon, let's go,” Allura says.

She nods across the deserted parking lot to where two men are standing guard outside steel doors and starts for them, signalling for him to follow.  Shiro recognizes the tattoos on their necks as they get closer and forces Allura to stop. He wonders if he imagined the cheers he’d heard earlier.

“I thought you said this was _safe_.”

“It is. This is an underground bunker. One of many owned by Hannibal Chau, a local businessman—”

“— _mobster—"_

“—and it's foundations and supports are made of reinforced steel, able to shelter up to three hundred people. Adequately ventilated and radiation resistant. It's survived Onibaba, Slattern _and_ Yamarashi. Hannibal makes improvements here and there, but all in all: _very safe_.  You don’t have anything to worry about.”

She turns to one of the guards and flashes a playing card trump, pocketing it before Shiro can get a good look at the face and suit.

“Tin man, huh” the other says, peering at Shiro’s prosthetic in interest.

“Nah, _one_ quarter tin man,” his friend corrects with a chuckle.

 _Hardy-har-har_ , Shiro thinks, knowing better than to be baited.

“Man enough for the KZ, I can assure you.” Allura promises.  

 

And the doors swing closed behind them.

 

 

. . .

 

Shiro follows Allura down a dimly lit staircase, the clamor of the crowd he was sure he imagined echoing and rebounding against the walls. Louder and louder. There’s also the sound of wood knocking against wood at varying intervals and rhythms to fill the lapses of silence when the clamoring turns hushed and urgent.  

Another set of doors guarded by another set of guards. Another important face pivotal to the Jaegar-Kaijiu war that Shiro recognizes from the PPDC.  Much like Allura’s, the man's presence does little in the way of alleviating Shiro's gnawing wariness toward the whole place. 

K-Science Officer Doctor Matthew Holt.

Nine times out of ten, people never see him outside of a labcoat, or even outside of a _lab_ and _not_ covered in kaijiu entrails or motor grease, when he’s lending J-Tech a hand. 

 _Guess that makes this ten_ , Shiro thinks.  

It occurs to him that he only recognizes Matt by the industrial-grade goggles pushed into his hairline, and unkempt ponytail.

“Probably trying to wheedle his way into a kaijiu tearduct or gallbladder again,” Allura sighs.

According to Jiro, Matthew's never had any qualms or notions regarding personal space, so it doesn’t surprise Shiro that he’s got an arm draped casually over the guard’s shoulder.

What does, is the revelation that he has a sick set of kaijiu tattoos: Yamarashi and Knifehead inked on each arm; fangs bared, exposed as far up as the latter has chosen to roll up his sleeves. 

It’s the sickest thing Shiro’s ever seen. And he _despises_ the kaijiu. He doesn't know what that says about him.

Then again; some stones _are_ better off left undisturbed.

“I’m telling you,” Matthew says as they approach, “you hook me up with a lymph node from a Category 4, and I will _personally_ give you my sister’s phone number.”

“Not into girls.”

“Alright; I’ll give you _my_ phone number—”

“Answer’s still no pretty boy.”

“Your loss,” Matt says. His eyes light up the instant he spots Allura, completely forgoing salvaging the botched negotiation of five seconds ago.  “Lu! Where the hell you been, Keith and Lance were called up just now!”

“Shit!”

Shiro finds himself being dragged over to Matthew by the armpit and all but tossed into the guy’s arms.  

Allura waves her hand impatiently as she bulldozes through the introductions:

“Shiro, Matt; Matt, Shiro. Matt’s handy in a fight, so you’re in good hands, cheers Matt!”

She hurries inside without so much as a wave goodbye.

Shiro internally shrugs and sticks his hand out. “Uh, so I’m Shiro.”

“You don’t say.” Matt teases, but he returns the handshake all the same: strong and somehow not at all intimidating at the same time.  “Nice to meet you, Shiro. As Allura says, I’m Matt.  Jiro said you were a stickler for the rules, but I’m willing to bet that was sibling sniping at play.”

“Not following.” Shiro frowns.  

“You know; seeing as you’re here at a hella dangerous, _hella illegal_ underground fighting tournament,” Matt explains. “He’s the younger twin, isn’t he?”

Without further preamble he tugs Shiro by the sleeve past the doors.  Shiro goes without any resistance; still reeling.

“I’m sorry; underground _what?”_

 

. . .

 

The _Kral Zera_ , Matt somehow manages to explain while he and Shiro elbow their way through the crowd to get as close as they can to the ring, is apparently popular with jaegar pilots. Not just those on Active status at Kerberos, but those long retired from the fight as well. Seated three rows from the front Shiro spots his greying childhood heroes and nearly trips over his own feet as sensory overload sets in. Rangers Blaytz Nalquod, Trigel Dalterion, and Gyrgan Rygnirath in the honest to God flesh; their attention focused on the match that has just gone to Lance.  

“ ** _Two-One_** ,” the ref announces.

Money changes hands. The losers file dejectedly out of the arena. Lance and Keith return to the starting position. Shiro sees Trigel lean toward Gyrgan, muttering something.  God, what a guy would give to be a fly on _that_ wall.

“Yeah,” Matt says, “they have that effect on people.  Sometimes, the Marshall even makes an appearance. _Never_ fights though. Boo.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No I'm serious; he never fights.” Matt winks.

Shiro laughs in surprise, but feels a bit more at ease for it.

The arena falls silent but for the sounds of hanbō clashing against hanbō. Lance looks cocky; Keith looks hellbent on vengeance. Slash, butt, slash, parry. Doesn’t bother to feint. Doesn’t try to lure Lance into a false sense of security, as Shiro would.  

 _Completely_ ignores everything Shiro taught him.

“ ** _Three-One_**.”

Shiro can’t watch this.   _Where the hell is Jiro anyway?_

Matt catches him by the sleeve to stop him from going on his one man manhunt.

“This is a good match, Shiro,” Matt says. His eyes don’t leave the two pilots currently center stage.  “ _They're_ who people come to watch.”

“He’s playing right into Lance’s hands!”

“Nah.”

“ _Yeah_. Keith’s always been a hothead.”

“Aha! So you know Keith.”

“Been baby-sitting him since kindergarten. There's a reason these two pilot different jaegars.”

Matt quietly takes that information in. Shakes his head.  “Three-Two, to Keith.”

“ _Four_ -Two to Lance.”

“You willing to put money on it?”

“Five bucks,” Shiro says. It's all he has in his pant pocket right now. Not that he'd go any higher if that wasn't the case.

Matt shakes his hand, grinning. “Get ready to learn a thing, Ranger.”

Four moves later, Keith taps Lance on the shoulder before the guy has a chance to block.

The punters go wild; Shiro goes still.

Money changes hands again and new bets are placed.  Ranger Nalquod cups his hands around his mouth and yells out out...helpful advice, Shiro hopes. It was in Spanish and Lance is beet-red by the time Nalquod leans back in his seat again.

Matt snorts as he translates, “my grandmother could have blocked that, and she’s got cataracts in _both_ eyes.”  

Shiro coughs and does his best to stifle his laughter after an older punter shushes him. 

Round six begins anew.

“You got this Keith!” Jiro yells.  

Shiro scans the crowd in an attempt to pinpoint the latter and finds him on the other side of the ring standing beside Allura, annoyingly out of reach. He tunes in again just as Keith slows his overhead strike enough to tap Lance on the top of his head.   

“What the hell—” 

“ ** _Three-Three_** ,” both Matt and the ref say in unison. Matt has the biggest, shit-eating grin to put all shit-eating grins to shame on his face. 

Despite his losing streak, Shiro finds himself smiling.  Kidnapping aside, meeting the infamous kaijiu groupie has become an unintended positive consequence of the whole ordeal.  A whole lot of chill packed in so lithe a frame, Matt's is _not_ a disposition one typically encounters in the efficient and well-oiled machine that is Kerberos.

It's...refreshing.

“Final round decider,” Shiro says. “Four-Three to Lance.”

“ _Draw,_ ” Matt says. “I’m totally game, but can I be honest? I’m not really interested in money.”

Shiro smiles. He’d figured that when the guy didn’t bother to raise the take earlier on in the night. “So I’ll make it interesting for you then,” he says. “I lose, I’ll get you…a kaijiu eardrum or something.”

“I’d prefer a brain, but sweet _Jesus_ , it’s like I made you in a lab!” Matt pretends to faint. Shiro’s quick enough to catch him and set him upright again and they crack up laughing afterward. It earns them the _dirtiest_ looks from the people closest to them, but Matt doesn’t look bothered, so Shiro decides he isn’t either.

In fact, it occurs to Shiro that in that moment he’s the furtherest thing from ‘bothered’ that he could possibly be. There’s a _word_ he’s racking his brain for, to pin down this high and give it a name. ‘Happy’ feels too simplistic, seeing the mischief and joy in those brown eyes. Maybe even disingenuous.

 _Elated_?

“Fucking deck him Keith!” Matt hollers.

Shiro loses his shit, nearly wetting himself from laughing so hard.

“You two,” one of the guards standing sentry by the ring goes, “don’t make me come over there!”

“Ayy, Antok, looking sharp in that suit,” Matt goes. “What is that, _Brioni_? _Dolce_?”

“It's _Holt shut the fuck up_ _,_ _before I fucking throttle you_.”

Shiro elbows Matt to quit while he’s ahead. Matt rolls his eyes, but acquiesces. 

In the ring the fight rages on. Lance charges Keith and begins a barrage of furious swipes. Keith defends, his teeth clenched with the effort. It’s not his style to wait for an opening.

“God, the restraint is probably _killing_ him at this point,” Matt mutters. He doesn’t smile as he makes the observation, Shiro notices.

Shiro also notices the quiet confidence in the tone that statement was delivered; one he’s willing to bet is rooted in statistics and personal experience, and not sheer, arrogant, gusto.

“Aaand, _time_.” Matt declares.

“No way,” Shiro goes.

“ _Way_.”

“You got lucky.”

“Luck has _nothing_ to do with compatibility, my friend.  But if you think that’s the case then I get lucky _a lot._ Also you owe me a brain.”

 _Compatibility_?

Matt has his phone out now, but he isn't texting anyone, from what Shiro can see. He's jotting down notes. Keith and Lance’s bonus match starts up, but he doesn’t appear invested, the way he’s now pushing through the crowd toward the exit. Shiro glances one final time at the ring, and decides which mystery he doesn’t want to go unsolved. 

It's a brisk, silent trip as he follows Matt through the doors and back outside into the garage. Without glancing up Matt high-fives the guards as he passes, continues walking until he reaches the dinged up Ford Bronco parked next to the kidnapping sedan. He finishes whatever note he’s written, pockets his phone and unlocks the Bronco.

Smiles over the roof at Shiro.

“So, _that_ was fun. Need a lift back to base?”

“It’s not over yet,” Shiro says instead. 

“ _Technically_. It’s still gonna be another draw though. Don’t believe me, you can ask Lu and she can show you their Drift Compatibility ratios after tonight. Anything else?”

“Your notes. What are they for?”

“Keep a secret?” Matt says. Shiro nods. “Recruitment’s going through a dry spell trying to find the next batch of drift compatible pairings for the Mark-6’s.  Lu thinks the algorithm needs tweaking, so she brought me onboard for input. Fresh pair of eyes, and all that.  Well, _moderately_ fresh, considering I had laser eye surgery…”

“ _Does_ it need tweaking?”

“You kidding me? The algorithm’s _perfect_. It's the _human_ element that’s causing us grief. The part of the equation we can’t control. So what does one do, when the algorithm has such limited parameters to work with?” 

Shiro shrugs.  Matt looks all too happy to answer, thrusting his arms out toward the ceiling.

“You cast a wider net, _duh_!  You get out of your comfort zone and you dive into the unknown…and then you dive back out and do your homework and save the Jaegar Program from extinction, and you get the Nobel Prize for Ass-Kicking, and they spell your middle name wrong on the plaque.” Matt shrugs. “The hard part will be convincing the higher ups to let us trial kwoon combat as a compatibility measure, but that’s where Lotor comes in."

“All in a day’s work, huh?”

Shiro opens the passenger side door and hops in at the exact time that Matt chooses to, their seatbelts clicking in unison. Matt’s eyes go wide with excitement.

“ _Literal_ _chills_ ,” he says, showing Shiro the goosebumps on his arm. He starts the car. “ _Dude_. If I didn’t know better I’d say we were Drift Compatible.”

“I know a dojo that’s open twenty-four hours; we can test that theory,” Shiro says. “Bet you won’t land a hit.”

“You know what, you’re on,” Matt says, pulling out of the parking lot and gunning it into the night. “Can’t be Drift Compatible when I wipe the floor with you.”

“ _If_ you wipe the floor with me,” Shiro corrects. 

Matt switches on the radio. He cycles through the channels, stopping on an 80's love ballad right as they roll up to a traffic light just so he can serenade the unsuspecting tourists choosing to cross at that moment. Shiro buries his face in his palm and laughs again like he hasn’t in _literal years_ , heart pounding four times too fast against the walls of his ribcage, because _God_ if that isn't the most masterful butchery of 'Separate Ways' he's ever heard.  

It feels like he's spent the whole of tonight standing on the precipice, and has finally leapt into an inky dark that no longer scares him. Less of a free-fall into spaces undiscovered and yet to be explored; more of being at utter ease with relinquishing control. Letting the unseen anchor at the bottom continue to pull him beneath the waves.

A feeling not unlike being tethered to another soul in navigating the terrifying expanse of The Drift. 

**Author's Note:**

> edit 28/12/18 : original ending tweaked


End file.
